Why Not Me?
by Chatte D'Ange
Summary: Being Prime's daughter is not quite what one would expect. Mainly AU movieverse with some random stuff thrown in. OC central obviously.
1. One for the History Books

Disclaimer: I do not own transformers. Any original characters, however, are mine. Please do not take them without permission, although I will probably say yes.

* * *

My left shoulder presses against the wall as I shake with silent laughter. Shutting off your vocal processors will only do so much, and there are times when you just plain can't help yourself.

Right now, for instance. Seeing the Twins so flabbergasted is the funniest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Seriously, their mouths are hanging open like gasping fish. I think I displaced something, but I'm still laughing so hard that if I try to go see Ratchet I'll fall back against the wall and bang my doorwings, and they'll figure out where I am for sure, making my prank a moot point.

Sorry. I'm forgetting that you're new to this whole situation, and probably wondering just what's so funny. For this to make sense, I'll need to tell you some of my history.

Okay, long story short, my parents are the weirdest couple you will ever come across. My dad's a giant robot from another planet who can turn into a semi truck (or anything else he wants, so long as it's his size and approximate mass) and is the leader of a force of other giant robots that battle evil giant robots to keep them from taking over the world. (Try saying that in one breath.) My mom is a human and therefore organic and roughly one sixth my dad's height.

You're thinking, _Wait, so exactly how is this supposed to work?_ Not in the conventional way, I can tell you that much. Keeping this as simple (and PG) as possible, Dad gave Mom part of his Spark (life force) somehow, and her soul merged with it. Before this, I was basically a vegetable, half a person. I could think, but not do, and I had none of the normal human feelings—pretty much a really smart organic computer that couldn't act on what it thinks (thankfully). When Mom's soul merged with that part of Dad's Spark, it created a chain reaction that not only allowed them intimacy on a spiritual level but also reacted with me, adding the other half of my being, the part of my soul that actually made it a soul. The best guess I can come up with is that it's related to the whole "two become one flesh" thing. It really creeps me out to think that there could be something out there running around with no soul, though.

The other half of my soul being from Spark created quite the interesting results. I can switch back and forth between human and Transformer, and I can use a couple of my Transformer abilities as a human. Such advantages do not come without a price, though. My learning speed is about equal to that of someone with a 246 IQ, so I don't process anywhere near as fast as the other Transformers and I still have to learn things even after I download them. I also lack a womb in human form and a sparking hollow as a femme, so I can't have kids outside of a major miracle. Pooh. I've pretty much come to terms with that for the time being, however. At least I don't have to worry about the Decepticons coming after me to make me a deceptibaby machine or something.

_So what's with pranking the Twins?_ Oh, yeah. That was how this started, wasn't it? Anyway, by the time I came along, every Autobot guy was pretty much femme starved in every sense, due to the fact that most of us went into hiding or got wiped out when they refused to be part of the Decepticreeps' collection. Nobody made any advances on me or anything (not even being in a war for millennia made them lose _that_ much of their decency), but I can tell that they're glad to have a girl around again. The Twins got a HUGE crush on me (possibly due to the aforementioned lack of femmes their age—or any age), and started flirting with me. It's kind of a game, because they know that there's no way in all of heaven and earth I'd ever go for one of them.

Game or not, though, they can get really annoying sometimes though, and earlier today was one of those times. They started pestering me very early in the morning, banging on the door to my quarters at 5:30 a.m. to ask me if I wanted to do some target practice. It escalated from there, to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to ditch the little boogers before I glued them to the ceiling.

Then I remembered that none of the Autobots besides Dad knows that I do the species switch-thing. (They also don't know that I'm the daughter of Optimus Prime, mainly because Dad didn't have a daughter before, and they all know it. They'd overload if we told them were I really came from, and Dad doesn't exactly want Mom to be brought into the picture anyway. The whole Decepticons being able to squish her if they found out about her thing makes him jumpy. Heck, makes me jumpy, too.)

So, picking up where I was before I so rudely interrupted myself, I decided it would be fun to use my shapeshifter power to pull a fast one on the Lambo Twins. I show up in human form a lot around the base, so they wouldn't freak about some random human getting in.

I started pestering the two of them back, yawning when they flirted with me, ignoring them, and throwing in a couple of "Hm? Did you say something?"s and "Are the vents malfunctioning again?"s for good measure. I finally got them to chase me into a dead-end hall with only one open room. I darted inside and did my thing, getting into position on a crate just as Sunny came barreling through the doorway. He stopped suddenly when he saw the human me, causing the still-charging Sides to run into him, only to fall back and land on his bumper.

"Uh, Jess? Did you see Sitka come in here?" the befuddled Sunny asked.

"Nope." Well, it's the truth, isn't it?

"Did you see her run by?"

"Nuh-uh."

"You sure?"

"_Yes,_ Sunny, I'm positive. It's kinda hard to miss a blue-and-chrome, fairy-winged, thirteen-foot-nine femmebot dashing down the hall." I had to fight to keep a straight face, and it took all of my acting skills to sound annoyed. I dropped off of my crate, random book in hand, and stalked out into the hall, past Sides, and around the corner. Then I shifted back, shut down my voice emitter, and busted up laughing.

8888888

I'm still shaking when Bumblebee comes by. He cocks his head like, "What?" Speechless (obviously), I point to the room where Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are still trying to puzzle out where I went. Bee listens for a few minutes, then covers his voice emitter to muffle the soft laughter bubbling in his processor. When we finally calm down, he whispers, "How in the world did you manage to pull that off?"

"A good magician never reveals her secrets," is my only reply.

"I DON'T GET IT! HOW THE BLUE BLAZES DID SHE JUST DISAPPEAR?"

Bee and I crack up laughing again. Sunny apparently picked up on the phrase that I use all the time as Jess.

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Please review and let me know what you think.


	2. The Grimms' Nightmare

Thank you all for the rave reviews, faves, and alerts! I had a lot of fun writing Sitka, and decided to make this a story, so don't worry—I don't plan on ending Sitka's saga any time soon. There may be multiple stories, though.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Sitka/Jess and her mother are mine, as are any other original concepts/characters that show up. Please do not use them without permission. Thanks!

Warning: Dark content ahead.

Without further ado, here's chapter 2.

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Bee and I finally calm down enough to see Ratchet. We both end up going in, because poor Bee ended up blowing something. Ratchet isn't too torqued when he learns that it's because I pranked the Twins and Bee saw the results. (Ratchet's had his share of experiences with the Twins.) He _does_ tell Bee to turn off his processor next time, for pity's sake, because it's nowhere near done healing. 

Ratchet figures out what I knocked loose (the same thing Bee blew; I couldn't tell you what it's called to save my life) and puts it back in place just as the call goes out for all available Autobot forces to report to the battle deck. It's from Optimus himself.

There hasn't been a command for all hands on deck since before I came around. This can't be good.

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It isn't.

The hologram I see playing out before my eyes is the most gruesome thing I've ever seen, that I've never seen. Not even in my worst nightmares could I have come up with something like this. The-the _thing_ in the hologram is like something taken from the darkest stories of the Brothers Grimm and mutated into an oozing, squirming, writhing mass of undead flesh and living metal in vaguely bipedal shape.

I barely have time to register that it's the red Seeker-jet Starscream in front of those humans . . . blocking them (?!!) from the nightmare thing, before he's grabbed by a massive hand that forms with a sickening _schluroopp_ from the side of the living nightmare. A gaping hole with massive rotting, rusting teeth opens, and a sucking sound fills my audials.

I want to turn away, but I can't. Starscream lives up to his name, emitting a high, agonized scream that seems to grip the very stars in the night sky above him and the scattering humans with terror. Some of the humans, intrepid little fools that they are, stay and attempt to help their would-be protector, throwing whatever they can get their hands on at the abomination that has invaded their home.

The thing makes a shrieking sound and absorbs the projectiles as it crushes Starscream in its grip, making him scream all the louder as his spark casing cracks open. The humans all freeze where they are, fighting or running, but still struggle, as if bound by an invisible force. The sucking sound intensifies, and the pulsating spark is ripped from Starscream's body as his scream escalates and is joined by those of the humans trapped where they stand. Glowing humanoid shapes pull out from their bodies, perfected or mutated versions of themselves, fighting the entire way.

_Their souls,_ I realize. I sway, and Bee catches me. The souls of those who had fought herd together the souls of those who had run around Starscream's spark, then form a protective shield around them, linking arms and growing, just before being sucked into the gaping maw of the metal-and-flesh monstrosity.

Shadowhaunter, one of the newest arrivals and a saboteur/spy, wretches. Ratchet and Jazz turn several shades of an unhealthy grey, and I can see the Twins and Bumblebee fighting not to follow Shadowhaunter's suit. I think the worst thing for me is that the whole ordeal took a matter of 33.26 seconds.

Ironhide spoke up first. "How the blooming blazes are we supposta fight THAT?"

Dad turned to us, graver than I had ever seen him, even when he talked about the time that they thought Jazz had died at the hands of Megatron. His optics bored into mine. "I don't know, but we have to find out."

I couldn't agree more. The Autobots had vowed to protect the humans. Me being who I was, I had a special duty to do that, for the sake of both my races.

8888888

I immediately started an Internet search for anything even remotely similar to what I had seen. My hopes rose when I found a much longer list than I had first thought I would.

The possessed animal gods in _Princess Mononoke_

The Dementors in _Harry Potter_

Various whisperings of legends from around the globe

It wasn't very much, but it was a start.

Bee walked into the commons just as I got up.

"Hi."

"Hey."

It turns my guts inside out to make my normally jovial, upbeat friend in such a glum mood, but there's not much I can do about it. Except keep searching. Maybe . . .

"Bee, you wanna help me find something to bring this guy down? I've already got Jess on it, but we could enlist Sam and Mikaela. They can get into places we can't—like the library."

"Seriously?" A glimmer of the old Bee showed up in his exited tone, and part of his accustomed energy returned to put a little bounce in his stance.

"Yeah. I've already got some leads to check out on the 'Net, and there's some random mentions of legends that we can ask our human friends to pursue. It's not too horribly much, but it's something. Besides, the library has free wi-fi so we don't have to worry about finding a phone port and hacking someone's dial-up."

Bee smirked at my dial-up comment, and we dashed down the hall toward Dad's office.


	3. Mondays are From the Pit

I have never been more miserable in my entire life. All of our leads are getting flushed down the toilet faster than the world's worst case of smelly diarrhea. All the while, the monster from hell's own nightmares is wreaking havoc left and right. Skywarp fell to the thing, and Thundercracker barely made it out with his spark in place, never mind his body intact. Barricade went down, and Soundwave went with him. (Good riddance to Soundwave, but Barricade had a good spark somewhere under the Decepticon armor, if you knew where to look.) Masses of humans fed the bottomless pit that was the evil creature.

We lost one of our own, too. Blurr went down trying to protect Thundercracker and the human city under attack. The humans didn't stand a chance. I cried a lot that night.

It's only been a week for the whole ordeal.

To top off the whole situation, our wonderful history teacher Mr. Spitler (to whom the students lovingly refer as Hitler) has decided it would be fun to give us a twenty page report—single space, front and back _in order_—that is due, of course, in four days. Counting today. It's on the cultural influence of radishes. I just love Mondays, don't you?

Of course not. Mondays blow to next week.

Anyway, I'm walking out to F lot (I'll let you figure out why it's called that) to retrieve my '76 Pacer (shudder—ugliest car on the planet, but my blue tricked-out 2000 Cougar form "attracts too much attention"), lamenting the fate of the human and Transformer races and trying to figure out just how I can write that paper in less than four days _and_ do my part to save the planet, when I feel a pair of hands grab my shoulders. They spin me around, and I find myself glaring into the leering face of Conrad Shafer. May I just say that this guy makes a horny Megatron seem like the nicest guy on the planet? Fortunately, most girls seem to understand that (even the preps) and wouldn't touch him with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.

Unfortunately for me, he has developed an obsession with me. What I wouldn't give to introduce him to Ironhide. Or the Twins.

I recover quickly and push him back with all my might. "When the blue blazes are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that I don't like you in any way, shape, or form?"

"I like it when you're angry." Oh my gosh, how stupidly cliché can you get? His every word seems to come from a bad movie line. I think I'm going to puke.

He advances on me again. BE-BEEP-BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Shafer the Lech jumps clear out of his underwear as a familiar horn sounds behind him.

I grin as the blond hologram behind the wheel of the Camaro lunges forward as the Camaro's engine revs, sounding like a wolf protecting its turf. Shafer turns and runs like there's no tomorrow, and I bust up laughing.

"Thanks, Bee."

"No prob, Jess. Any luck?"

"Nada. I practically ransacked the school library during studyhall, and I came up with little more than what's already on Sitka's list."

A particularly colorful Cybertronian expletive escapes the Camaro before he remembers who he's talking to. The blond hologram blushes and ducks his head behind the wheel. "Oops."

"I understand."

"So, how are you, besides the obvious?"

"The only way life could get worse is if my dog barfed in my lap and then died."

"That bad, huh? Is Hitler up to his old tricks again?"

"Yeah. 20 page paper, single-space, both sides of the page. In ten point font. Plus Stalin (my Academic Research teacher) announced his evil plan to take over the world by way of another research paper, this time on the eating habits of squirrels." Last time it was the reproductive process of squid. We got off lightly this time.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

He pauses. "You know, I could help you with that squirrel thing. I've been looking up potential insults for the Twins."

"Sure, but only if you tell me one of the insults first. I need to have an idea of what to look for."

Bee looks at me like I've had a couple of screws knocked loose.

"What? I may as well make use of the material if I have to go to the trouble of looking it up."

He just grins.

* * *

I felt the need to write this. Sorry if it's bad, but not for it being slow. It's one a.m. What can I say? 


	4. The End of My World

My doorwings are swept back so far and so low that they touch together at my backside. I'm trembling so hard that I nearly shake loose my recently repaired parts. It's all I can do not to burst into tears right here and now. It feels like my spark is going to fall out.

Dad's laying on Ratchet's medbay exam table, exhausted and gasping through his vents. Mom found him like that outside our house, completely transformed to 'bot mode and completely out in the open. If you know _anything_ about Dad, you know that's a bad sign. A really bad one.

Ratchet turns to us, his face as grim and hopeless and weary as if he were pronouncing the end of the world. "Optimus . . . has developed . . . a hypervirus."

I can feel my spark nearly stop pulsing. A hypervirus is basically the Transformer version of terminal cancer. A supervirus is treatable and mostly curable, but hyperviruses are so rare and so elusive that it's hard to get a lock on exactly where they are in a Transformer's programming, and you can forget about studying one to find a treatment. They eat at a Transformer's core programming, taking weeks to devour a single decabyte. Because they're so slow and so random as to where they attack, it's nearly impossible to detect one with any standard medical scanner until the damage has been done.

You can't rewrite the programming, because a Transformer's programming is unique to each Transformer, and it's pretty much internally and subconsciously written by the Transformer him- or herself. All you can do for someone who has a hypervirus is make them as comfortable as possible and wait out the long, slow, painful death with them. It's long even by Transformer standards, and even longer when you've reprogrammed yourself to see time in human terms, which all of us has done.

My knees buckle, and blue tears form rivulets down my chrome cheeks. I feel multiple hands catch me, and I'm transferred to a pair of familiar yellow arms. They're connected to a black-striped chest, in which I bury my face and break down totally, and cry in long, anguished sobs somewhere between human, animal and mechanical.

They get it. My comrades have pretty much figured out by now that Optimus is like a father to me, and have jokingly taken to calling me his daughter, though they still have no idea exactly how true that is.

Bee adjusts his stance, pulling me closer and holding me tightly as Ratchet continues.

"My best estimate as to how much time he has is two years." Two years. Two short years to tell him all I want to say, to learn all I want to know, to tell him how much I love him and how glad I am that he came to be my dad and saved me from the curse of a soulless existence.

"There is nothing more we can do now, except try what treatments we know and attempt to relieve his pain." Two long years of being helpless, of watching my father waste away into oblivion, of seeing him become a mere shadow of the great being he is, and then become nothing.

That's it, then. Soon, there will be no more long talks about what it means to be alive and to love and just be. No more contemplating the mysteries of the stars, or training to master my inherited abilities, or teasing my parents about being the wrong size for each other. No more days with just the three of us, me, Dad, and Mom, watching the sunset on the hill in back of our house and just enjoying being with each other. No more teasing Mom about being in love with her truck.

Mom. What am I going to tell Mom?

* * *

Uh, yeah. If you can't tell, I was extremely depressed when I wrote this. My dad's having serious health problems right now, and the doctor thinks it's neurological. My dad's dad had Parkinson's, and I watched him slowly die when I was 6. Dad's exhibiting the some of the symptoms of Parkinson's, and I'm really afraid that I'll have to watch my dad die too. 

Of course, it could be something else. Like brain cancer, which my aunt (my dad's sister) had. Like that's any better.

Also, I have a friend who's in the hospital after having a bloodclot and a bone removed. She's stuck in a hospital bed and has to go on blood thinners and take shots in the stomach every six hours, and I can't be there with her because I'm multiple states away from her.

Okay, I need to go write a happy story now, or I'm going to develop clinical depression. It may or may not be posted.

Any and all who believe in God--heck, anybody who thinks there's even the remotest chance of there being a deity of some kind of compassionate nature--please pray for me, my dad, my mom, my friend, and my friend's parents. I have the feeling that my prayers alone are not going to be enough.


	5. How God Gets His Jollies

Before you ask, by no means do I believe that God made my dad get sick, nor do I believe He is capable of evil. Here, he is taking back is own for people being stupid, and doing it in a way that will help. Now go read the chapter, and I hope you laugh your rear end off at the end of it.

* * *

Mom and I haven't left each other's arms all afternoon. We've just sat out in the porch swing, wrapped in blankets and crying with each other. It really blows for Mom, because she can't even go to Dad to be with him. I'm the closest she can get. 

I've always had issues with Dad not telling the others about Mom, even though I totally understand the reasoning. I guess I could see something like this coming. Now they're both paying for it, big time.

I take the night watch with Dad all the time. It's a good thing too, because he's been calling for Mom in his recharge. I keep worrying about one of the others finding out about it. I can't hold out much longer. Taking the night shift with Dad is taking its toll on me, because I still have to go to school and such. I never get any sleep.

Not being able to talk about Dad to my friends hurts, too. I mean, I can talk to Mikaela and Sam, but there's only so much I can lament about, them not knowing about my shifting powers and Optimus being my father.

This whole situation just blows.

I look up at Mom. "I need to get back before the others start wondering where I am. It's nearly six o'clock."

Mom just nods and slowly disengages herself from me.

She's so numb, now. Like she's living in a daze. I can't broach the subject to Dad, because he'd just tell me that this is even more reason to keep Mom a secret, because he won't be there to defend her. Like I can't do anything about it. Mom would say as much too, only she doesn't want _Dad_ to get hurt. So asking her to let me smuggle her in is out of the question.

I didn't used to mind them being a little overprotective of me and each other so much, but this situation is getting out of hand. They're killing themselves.

See, I've studied the few cases of the hypervirus that have been recorded through history, and each and every time, the victim was under extreme stress. If you read in between the lines, you find another consistency: evidence of the victims denying themselves a lover. There was always a certain femme or mech who took it harder than the other bots—who was quite close to the bot in question, if you look hard enough at the evidence—and if that doesn't spell "secret lover" then I don't know what does.

As for Mom, you all know as well as I do what happens when a human loses his or her will to live.

I stumble slightly as I walk into the base. I was right, there's not much more I can take of this. I have to get some sleep (or some recharge) sometime.

Jazz notices my stumble, and cocks his head at me. "You ahraight, Sitka?"

"Yeah, just a little sleepy, that's all."

"Maybe you should take this shift off."

"Nah, I'll be okay." As I talk to Jazz, I marvel again at how utterly . . . _alive_ he is. The first time I saw him, Ratchet had been trying to rebuild his shattered remains. Somehow, he miraculously came back to life at the exact same moment Dad bonded with Mom. We found him wandering around in the bottommost level of the base. Maybe the human-bot bonding process is more potent than we originally figured, if that's what actually brought him back. Well, Mom and I _do _live only a couple of miles from the base.

Ratchet turns the corner and immediately scans me, obviously having overheard our conversation, since we mostly speak in English now. He frowns deeply at me.

"No, you will not. You have not recharged for nearly a week and a half now. Go to your quarters. Jazz will take over your shift. Doctor's orders." He crosses his arms over his chest, as if daring me to cross him. I don't, of course. I know they want an explanation, and if I protest, they'll make me give them one now, and I don't have one that doesn't include Mom. As much as I want to tell them, Dad and Mom will both have my hide if I say anything, and I really don't want to betray their trust.

I walk down to my quarters slowly, so I don't trip again. As I do, I pray with all my might that Dad doesn't call for Mom tonight.

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My prayer, of course, is not answered the way I want it to be.

I wake up to a loud pounding on my door and groan. Jazz's sheepish voice comes through from the other side.

"Sorry, Sitka, but Ah gotta ask ya somethin'."

"What?" I whine groggily at him.

"Couldja open the door?"

Muttering under my breath, I drag myself off my berth and slouch blearily over to the door.

I open my door with my passcode and growl at Jazz. "Spill."

"Optimus is mutterin' somethin' about this 'Aurora' thing. You got any idea what dat is?"

Of course I know what it is. Aurora is my mom's name. But I'll send myself to the Pit before I tell Jazz that.

"Means 'dawn.' Like a sunrise," I slur sleepily.

"Ah know. Ah looked it up. Dat's not what Big O's talkin' bout. Ah think it maight be somebody's name?" He looks at me, as if expecting me to expound. Yeah, right.

Unfortuately, Mikaela has chosen today to make one of her late night visits.

"Hey, I know somebody named Aurora!"

Jazz and I both turn to look at her, Jazz with curiosity, me with horror as I beg God not to let her say what I think she's going to say.

"Jess's mom's name is Aurora. But I thought she hadn't told her mom about you guys."

"Not as far as I know," I say.

"Maybe Optimus met her when he was out on his own one of those times?" Mikaela speculates. Crud. She is far too observant. I do not like where this is going.

"Maybe . . ." Jazz echoes. He looks at me. I am not good at hiding my emotions, and right now I'm about ready to explode with panic. "Sitka, you're close with Jess and Optimus both. Do you—"

For once in my life, doing something stupid comes in handy. My servos finally register that I have pretty much sucked my energy reserves dry, especially since I got woken up before I reached the Transformer equivalent of REM (which, for those of you who don't know, is when your body reenergizes and repairs itself), and I fall over in a dead faint on the floor.

* * *

I have regained my sense of humor, albeit a cynical one. Yes, I believe God has a sense of humor. Don't believe me, go look up the duck-billed platypus and the bombadier beetle. If you can look me in the eye and say whatever created those didn't have a sense of humor, then we'll talk. And if you don't believe in God, well, they're still quite funny if you think about it hard enough. 


	6. The Reason I Still Hold On

Thankfully for my sanity, Jazz and Ratchet have decided to let the subject drop for the time being. They must have put me back in my quarters, because I wake up to voices outside my door. I groan softly and look at the settings. So much for having the soundproofing set. Stupid thing's got a virus in it.

From the way things sound, Bumblebee's trying to fend off the Twins. They're having a freak attack about me fainting. Poor Bee's trying to reassure them that it was just from fatigue, that no, I haven't gotten a hypervirus too, and _yes,_ he's sure I'm okay, and "WOULD YOU TWO SPROCKET HEADS JUST SHUT UP AND GIVE UP?! SHE'S SLEEPING!"

I bury my face in my arm and shift to human so they won't hear my armor rattling against my berth. I don't really need to deal with the Twins right now, but they're absolutely hilarious. I swear, they're more overprotective of me than my parents!

I sober at the thought of my parents, then shake it off. I'm no good to anyone wallowing in self-pity. I decide to rewatch the footage of the Grimms' Nightmare, as the media has taken to calling it. Funny how people all seem to have the same thoughts on something that horrifies them.

It makes me sick going over all that stuff again, but at least it keeps my mind mostly off Dad. There's a pattern in its striking style. I can feel it. If I could just find it, that would be one more lead to follow, something to bring hope to a severely demoralized group. And a severely depressed daughter.

I run the clips over and over again for nearly an hour, mapping the strike spots in my head, trying to find any sort of correlation with what it's doing to people, why it's striking where it's striking. I'm in the middle of another run when there's a soft knock on my door.

_Sitka? I know you're awake in there._ It's Bee. I kind of figured he'd find out I was awake sooner or later, having the advanced sensors of a scout and all. I was really hoping for later, though.

"You can talk; the stupid soundproofing is down."

There's an uncomfortable pause. "Uh . . ."

I chuckle. "No, Bee, you didn't wake me up. It was the twins with their screeching."

"If you're not going to sleep like you're supposed to, then do you want to ditch this mausoleum for a little while? Might do you some good. I read this article on psychology--"

"Might as well." I don't want to get Bee into one of his rants, especially when I've already read and researched every nuance of the same article. You'd be amazed at how much Transformers psych and human psych have in common. Any other time I'd be interested, actually. I swear, if there's ever a need for TFs to masquerade as humans, Bee could pass himself off as a prominent psychologist, no Harvard degree needed. (Well, maybe a fake one. It'd be easy enough—just hack the computer documentation and claim the real one burned in a fire. Unless they keep a paper copy for themselves. Boo. Oh, well, it's not like any of us is ever going to need it, especially me.)

Anyway, Bee and I head toward the surface, carefully skirting around Ratchet and the Twins' sensor ranges by using back corridors. We decide that our best bet is the newly renovated drive-in theater. While Transformer holograms are solid, they can't go any further than twenty yards from our bodies, which makes going inside any buildings difficult. I guess I should be grateful. Some of us don't even have them—like Dad. How I ended up with one is beyond me.

Apparently, the drive-in's owners decided to play dollar theater to amp up the nostalgia scene. That's fine with us. TFs can only carry so much cash on them without it causing problems. (Like clogged gears; yes, I speak from personal experience. Please don't ask.)

We decide on Spider-Man 3. (A/N: only those of you who know me will get the joke.)

I love my hologram. I can be anyone I want when I'm out riding around. I can be a total babe or a total geek; it's up to me. I now understand why people get so addicted to the Internet. I have like twenty profiles on five different things, and none of them is a repeat. The really funny thing? Because all my profile pics are of my holo, I can truthfully say they're me. Mwahaha.

There's some guys leering at me as I come in. I have my babe holo on, just because I felt like it. I love her. She's got long, fluffy platinum hair, bright blue eyes that could give high noon on a clear day in July a run for its money, and the coolest clothes you've ever seen. Think along the lines of shiny silver catsuit with a bright blue cropped jacket and iridescent navy blue over-the-knee boots. Anyhoo, there's some losers ogling me when I drive in, nudging each other and "juggling." Then they start daring each other to go touch me. I'm pretty sure you can guess where.

I radio Bee, who's a little behind me so as to allay suspicion and such. He busts up laughing when he hears what I have planned, and has to stop in someone's driveway to keep from causing a crash.

_So, you in?_

_Duh!_

A little bit later, the ugliest piece of scrap rusty yellow hatchback the world has ever had the misfortune to bear witness to the spawning of jolts and ka-CHUNKs its miserable way into the drive-in. The look on the owner's face when he sees the thing is priceless. (The owner is currently working the ticket stand because they don't have enough employees yet. Speaking of which, mental note for Jess: come up some day and ask for an application.) I feel so sorry for the poor guy. He looks like he wants to cry. He can't kick this guy out, because he'd get busted for some kind of discrimination. Oh well, maybe he'll get a kick out of what's coming next. He did look like he wanted to sock those thugs when they started their leering lecher routine.

I make a great show of turning around in disbelief at the sound as Bee (as that's who it is, obviously—don't worry, he saved his Camaro specs in a file so he can change back once he dumps this form) pulls up beside me several yards away. I sprint up to his car form, letting my womanly loveliness perform to its full for the astonished eyes of the lechers. I lean over, putting my head in the window as I lift up the plastic duct-taped in place over it.

"Oh my GOSH, I didn't know you were coming! I thought you had a space club meeting!" I exclaim in the preppiest sultry voice I've ever heard.

"Yeah, well Brian had an asthma attack, and his mom became pulled the overprotective card out of her sleeve. I've already seen this one. You want to go to the science exhibit up at city hall? They have a free lab where you can dissect frogs." The guy who removes himself from the car does not resemble Bee's cutie blond default hologram in the slightest. This guy is short (think along the lines of 4 foot 5), has coke-bottle glasses, a pocket protector complete with assortment of pens, and white little stick legs poking out from under dress shorts. (Yuck.)

"Sure!" I can barely keep from laughing as I sashay around and give him a big (fake) kiss. (We left a tiny bit of space between our holos. They do feel things, so best not to push it. Not when his form is like that, anyway. Bleah.) Then we both climb in his car and drive off. (My holo deactivates as soon as I climb in, of course. I can pull that off because of all the grime and plastic all over the windows.)

We wait until the losers vacate with their utterly shell-shocked looks in tow, then come back in Bee's Camaro form, with Bee back to his default hologram, laughing all the way in. (My Cougar body is only about fifteen yards from the official entrance. You can see best from further back.)

We climb out of Bee's frame, still shaking with laughter. "That was great! That was absolutely hilarious! I need to remind Mom to make Fin try out for the school play as soon as he hits high school age in a few years. Wow." Bee's wiping tears from his holographic eyes.

"Yeah, seriously. Who would have thought that your little brother would actually come in handy for something other than ratting us out? Who knows, he might actually make a decent person one day!" I'm back to my normal voice, now.

The owner just stares at us for a second. We look over at him, and all three of us bust up laughing again.

By the way, the movie was awesome.

* * *

I hope you had as much fun reading this chap as I had writing it! ;P 

KitKat


	7. Tis a Merry Christmas Indeed

Merry Christmas!

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Aurora and Sitka/Jess are MINE.

* * *

I have had enough of this. Mom has to be reminded to eat, and Dad _cried_ when he called for Mom last night. Someone has got to bring this nightmare to an end, and the only one with the power to do it is me. Thank God it's Christmas break, because this is going to take upwards of a week to explain to the others. I stalk out of the base, not bothering to answer the querying looks sent my way. 

When I get into my house, I find Mom still deep in fitful sleep. According to my sensors (I'm still Sitka), Mom's in REM sleep, and it's nearly impossible to wake her up when she's that deep. I wrap her up in the fuzzy blanket Grandma gave her last Christmas and carry her out to my Cougar form. Thank God for holograms.

When I get back to the base, I get Mom out and hold her with my hologram while I transform. Then I take Mom to Dad's room in the medbay, again ignoring the funny looks, especially from Prowl, who is currently taking the watch with Dad. I deposit Mom on Dad's berth, right next to his head. Dad and Mom wake up at the exact same time, and the looks on their faces are priceless.

"Optimus?"

"Aurora?"

"Optimus, oh my gosh, I . . ." Mom stops fishing for words, crawls up and latches her arms around his neck in the biggest hug she can give him, tears pouring down her face. "My gosh, I missed you so much!"

Dad's hands come up and wrap around her. There are tears in his optics, now, too. "Aurora, how in the world did you get in here?"

"Me, dur." They crane their necks to look back at me, not letting go of each other in the least. "You two are too daggoned stubborn for your own good. You're killing yourselves."

"What?"

I sigh. "I've been doing some research, and I think this hypervirus nonsense was set off by someone denying himself a certain lover. Circumstances surr--"

"Sitka, out here. Now." It's Prowl, calling me from the doorway. My sensors tell me that Red Alert is out in the hall.

"Hold that thought."

I join Prowl and Red Alert in the hall. "What?"

"Was it wise to bring her in?" Prowl asks me.

"Do you think I would have if I thought it wasn't?"

"Have you considered the possibility that the excitement might trigger a relapse? And how do you know it's safe to bring that human in here? What if she's in league with the Decepticons?" That's Red Alert.

The last question does it. These two really put the "anal" in "analytical". "You FLAMING idiots! Do you honestly think that I'd put our commander at risk that way? That really says exactly how low of an opinion you two have of me! For your information, she happens to be my mother, and Dad's sparkmate!! Are you suggesting that Optimus Prime is so naive as to get involved with someone who would put us all at risk?"

They just stare at me.

"Well, that explains a lot." At the sound of Jazz's voice, I whirl around to face not only Jazz but Bumblebee as well. My face grows hot and my spark clinches as I realize what I've just done. Not only is my parents' secret out, but mine as well. Bee stares at me, trying to process.

"So, you're . . . Jess?" Bee asks. I nod, tears forming in my optics. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! _I had only figured out a week ago that I'm in love with him. I've been waiting for a reply to a random outburst pronouncing that knowledge a couple of days ago in the commons room. An attack by the Grimms' Nightmare interrupted us before I got an answer. Now I've spilled that not only am I a half-and-half freak, but I'm _literally_ the commander's daughter. If the first half didn't scare him off, then the second one definitely will. I fold my arms and stare at the floor, waiting for things to sink in.

"That _does_explain a lot." Bee's voice is soft as he walks up to me and cups my chin. "Why didn't you say something before? No one here would have rejected you--much less me." The last bit is a whisper in my audio.

"Because Mom and Dad both would have had my hide. Dad was trying to protect Mom from the Decepticons, and Mom was trying to keep Dad from going beserketa if the Decepticons found out and used her as bait." Jazz is currently ushering the protesting Prowl and Red Alert from the area.

"That makes sense. If your mom is anything like Optimus, then she'd be just as stubborn." Bee pulls me close now that the two anal rententives and Jazz are out of visual range.

"If anything, she's even more stubborn than he is." Bee and I grin at each other when we hear the protests from the other room. "Now what?"

"I think I still owe you a reply."

He leans down, and kisses me hard, to the catcalls of a certain pair of Twins who have somehow gained control of the cameras and the PA system.

Did I mention it was Christmas?


	8. The Price of Being a Hero

Reason for the rating change: there's going to be some pretty dark stuff coming up when our favorite giant alien robots tangle with the Grimms' Nightmare. Prepare for things to get interesting.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Sitka/Jess and Aurora are mine, as is the Grimms' Nightmare, although I would rather not lay claim to it. Please ask permission if you want to borrow one of them.

* * *

Dad and Mom stare at each other for an excruciatingly extended moment, while Bumblebee and I stand there fidgeting. It's about a week later, and we've finally gotten up the courage to answer Dad's questioning remarks about the Twins' catcalls. (Our conversation was whispered. The only reason they heard the stubborn part was because we directed it at the door.) Dad clears his throat and looks at us, with a look that makes us freak like none other. Instinctively, we edge closer together, until our shoulders and doorwings are brushing each other, and grab hands behind our backs as we nervously return Dad's look.

Then Dad and Mom chuckle, the first laugh I've heard from either of them in a long while. "Relax, you two." You can hear the grin behind Dad's facemask. "We saw this one coming a while ago. It was only a matter of time."

Bee and I look at each other like "What?", and Mom laughs. "Honey, after you came back from your first time here, all you could talk about was Bumblebee."

Dad's grin scrunches his optics as he adds, "And the way you two interact with each other . . . well, let's say that the only ones who hadn't figured it out before now were you two. And possibly Red Alert."

Bee starts to say something, but we never learn what it is, because at that very moment, the scream of the base's alarms drowns out all coherent thought.

Prowl and Jazz rush in. "Prime," the tactician croaks, "it's here."

My spark freezes. "We have to move them out of here NOW!"

Jazz turns to me, his normally silver features an unnatural pale grey. "No dice, kid. That thing has da main entry blocked, an' both escape hatches're melted to slag. D—n thing's learned how to spit fire."

Bee wraps his arms around me, and we both look at Prowl, then back at Dad. "So what now?" My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

The cop car looks at us long and hard. "We'll just have to fight." A scream and an all too familiar screeching sound hail the advent of the Grimms' Nightmare into the base. "You two stay here, and see if you can't find a way around that thing. We'll hold it off as long as we can."

Bee and I nod, and Prowl and Jazz take off. Mom and Dad are whispering behind us, and I can tell they're arguing. I know they're fighting over whether Mom should stay or go. For the first time, I decide to butt in. "Dad," I say quietly, "I know you mean well, but Mom wouldn't survive much past your death if you went before she did. She nearly starved herself to death the past couple of months because she couldn't see you. Not out of choice, but because she was so caught up in worrying about and missing you that she couldn't think straight. If one or the other of you has to go today—which I pray doesn't happen—then it'd be best if you could go together, and spare the other person some pain."

Dad closes his optics as he fights tears. "Sitka . . ."

I continue before he can say anything. "It's just, I know how I'd feel if Bee died, and we've only got a fraction of the bond you have, at least at this point."

Dad nods, gently pressing Mom close to his spark. Mom gives me a grateful look.

I turn to Bumblebee, and we stare at each other for a while, as the base starts to shake. "There isn't going to be any way out, is there." It's not a question. Bee's studied this thing nearly as much as I have, and we both know that there's no way to fight it. Not physically. It's been taking bigger and bigger objects and blasts to distract it over the past few attacks, and that's all they do—distract it.

My face contorts into an expression of pure agony. I bite back a sob for what could have been, should have been. I feel the glow of uniting sparks behind me, and Bee pulls me into his arms. We move into a kiss at the same time, giving one last expression of what we wish could have been. This one is harder and even more passionate than the first, because we know that we could very well both be gone in a matter of minutes, and we have so much more to say.

Suddenly, there's a flash, and I feel myself somehow lock together with Bumblebee. My consciousness seems to widen, to open up, and I can literally feel memories, thoughts, feelings, that aren't my own, and yet somehow are. I catch one, and to my surprise, it's of Bee's and my first kiss—but from his angle. The pleasant feeling that's been just below the surface the whole time rises then, escalating until I feel like I'm going to explode with joy. I can feel the full extent of Bee's love for me, and I know that he can feel mine. We are no longer two, but one.

Slowly, our sparks disengage themselves, as if reluctant to come back to being two separate beings. I can feel tears coursing down my face, and as my optical vision returns, I can see the tears on Bumblebee's face, too. "Did we just . . .?"

"I—I think so."

"But . . . how? Neither one of us . . ." Dad's laughter booms behind us, accompanied by Mom's belltone chuckle.

"That's very rare, but it happens. To true sparkmates who are in dire circumstances, or who are unsure of whether they are right."

Bee and I grin at each other, still holding as tight as we can go, foreheads pressed against each other. "We were right . . ."

A quake pulls us out of our happy interlude, and Bee and I cling tighter still as the roof is pulled off. With yells of both terror and determination, we move to block Mom and Dad from the nightmare creature before us, still holding hands, but spread as far as we can go, our battle masks clicking into place. A huge chunk of debris falls on Bumblebee, tearing his hand from my grasp and knocking him to the ground.

I scurry to help him, trying to push the chunk off my sparkmate. Without warning, a huge, malformed limb splurts out of the horrendous creature above our heads, and Bee pushes me away just as the "hand" descends in our direction. The thing snatches Bumblebee from the ground, debris and all. Before I can so much as register the fact that my sparkmate is the being squirming in the Nightmare's grasp, the horrible, sucking, vacuum cleaner from hell sound starts up, the beast opening its maw to drain the life of my other half.

I lunge, looking for something, anything to distract the creature, only to be held down by a pair of battered Twins. I scream, struggling against them, fighting with all my strength and almost escaping before Jazz and Prowl join them. I feel all the more helpless as I am forced by some sick, twisted sort of living urge to watch as the spark is torn from the being that had such an infinitely short time ago been part of my very soul.

As the Sunny, Sides, Jazz, and Prowl pull me back into a small cranny, I see Dad fumbling with his chest plate. I sense Red Alert already in there, treating an injured Shadowhaunter. Beside me, Prowl's optics widen as Dad removes a glowing object from inside of himself. Not his spark, something else.

He calls to me in a hoarse voice, drawing back the hand holding the object. "Sitka! Use this!"

He throws the object with the rest of his waning strength, and I automatically move to catch it. It lands in my hands, just as the Nightmare picks up my father, Mom clinging to his shoulder, for sheer lack of anything else to do, helpless anger in her eyes, and sadness, too.

I scream again as my father and mother are stolen from this world, from a nightmare entity that has no right to exist. The thing in my hands flares up blindingly, my chestplate and spark casing opening of their own accord. A link is forged between me and this strange object, and I barely notice myself growing a good seven feet as the monster screams too, and I sense . . . fear? Coming from this thing? The monster backs away from the growing light, damage appearing where the beams touch it—almost like scorch marks.

It seems to fold in on itself, disappearing.

Sunny alone dares voice the question I can feel coming from them. "Is—is it gone?"

I feel a tug in my hands, and I do the only thing that feels natural—I let go of the object. It floats to my chest and nestles inside, right under my spark, as I answer. "No." I can feel it still. This thing will be back. "It wasn't dying, Sunny." I'm surprised at the calm soberness of my voice, when all I want to do is break down and cry hysterically. "It was running. And it _will_ be back, this time with a vengeance."

Prowl steps up next to me, on my right side, slightly behind me. Like he used to do with Dad. "Then we'll just have to be ready for it."

I nod. It's my duty, now. The object Dad gave to me was (according to it) the Autobot Matrix. I'm Prime, now.

I'm the one in charge of saving the world. I have to do it. For the sake of Bumblebee, Mom, Dad, Ratchet, Blurr, Bluestreak, Ironhide, everyone who fell. I don't have to go look for them. I can feel them missing, and I can see it in the look of those few who survived, those with me now. I have to carry on for their sake, too. I'm the one person they can depend on now, besides each other.

But first, I need to go find a new alt form. And a good place to cry where the others can't see. Dang, how did Dad deal with this on a daily basis?

* * *

Okay, that was officially the darkest thing I have written to date. I nearly cried when Bee died. I need to go read a happy story now. Please review, and don't worry, things will get better. But not for a few chapters. Prepare for some serious angst. As always, suggestions are welcome. 


	9. My Father in Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Sitka, Aurora, and the (shudder) Grimms' Nightmare are mine. Please ask before you use them, although I will most likely say yes.

* * *

After we've laid the bodies of our loved ones to rest, I do my best to settle the others in to a satellite base, one that's barely finished. We need all the defenses we can muster, and the power grid to the original was demolished, much like the rest of the base. Even if there was a section that hadn't been beat up, there are too many memories there. The wound is too raw, and having the remains of the rest of the base outside would just open it even wider. 

Long after the others are in recharge, I sit up in Da—my office. It should have been Dad's, when he came here. So much of him is still in this room. I have to alter the desk and chair, even with my new height. Dad was a good eight feet taller than my twenty. I look up at the ceiling, staring at the skylight—my idea. To give Dad some space when he couldn't get out.

My reflection stares back at me, transparent and surrounded by stars, the battlemask on my face showing more of my father in me than I ever thought possible. I suddenly snap, grabbing the controls for the soundproofing and upping them as far as they'll go, then throwing the controller across the room to slam into the wall with a satisfying crash. Fortunately, it didn't break. Thank God for Wheeljack's obsession with a new alloy he created out of titanium and some kind of diamond composite from one of Cybertron's moons. (A/N The Wheeljack here is more like Armada's Wheeljack, only an Autobot. Tis the privilege of the author. XD And yes, he's one of the ones that died.)

I stalk over, pick it up, and throw it at the wall again. No wonder Ironhide was always in the shooting range during the Decepticon wars, and during the past few months through the Nightmare. Beating things up somehow helps. I throw it again, and again, until I make a dent in the wall. That helped some, but I'm still angry. I still feel sad and utterly helpless. And I want my dad really bad right now.

Collapsing against the wall, I break down and cry. I scream my agony to the stars I see outside through the skylight, crying for Dad, for Bumblebee and Mom, for all that should have been.

I rail at God, demanding to know why this happened. Why did my dad have to get sick? Why did Mom have to hang on? Why couldn't this monster have gone to ravage the moon or something? Why did it have to exist in the first place?! Why did I have to be the next Prime? Isn't someone like Prowl or Jazz better suited for it than some teenaged halfbreed who'd only really been alive for a few years??

_Why isn't my father here when I need him most? There's no way I can do this on my own._

Suddenly, the HD radio next to the computer in my office clicks on, catching the end of a song.

_**Yeah I'm seeing my father in me  
I guess that's how it's meant to be  
And I find I'm more and more like him each day  
I notice I walk the way he walks  
I notice I talk the way he talks  
I'm starting to see my father in me **_

And now looking back I can recall the times we disagreed  
When I could not take hold of his old fashion way  
And the more I tried to prove him wrong the more I proved him right  
And now I know why he still stood by me when I went through that stage

I'm seeing my father in me  
I guess that's how it's meant to be  
And I find I'm more and more like him each day  
I notice I walk the way he walks  
I notice I talk the way he talks  
I'm starting to see my father in me  
And I'm happy to see my father in me. 

What? "What does that have to do with anything?" Other than my recent observations.

The radio changes stations.

_**You can spend your whole life buildin'  
Something from nothin  
One storm could come and blow it all away  
Build it anyway **_

You could chase a dream  
That seems so out of reach  
And you know it might not ever come your way  
Dream it anyway

God is great but sometimes life aint good  
And when I pray  
It doesn't always turn out like i think it should  
But I do it anyway  
I do it anyway

This worlds gone crazy  
And it's hard to believe  
That tomorrow will be better than today  
Believe it anyway

You can love someone with all you heart  
For all the right reasons  
And in a momemt they can choose to walk away  
Love 'em anyway

God is great but sometimes life aint good  
And when I pray  
It doesn't always turn out like i think it should  
But I do it anyway  
Yeah I do it anyway

You can pour your soul out singin'  
A song you believe in  
That tomorrow they'll forget you ever sang  
Sing it anyway  
Yeah sing it anyway

I sing  
I dream  
I love anyway 

"Why? What's the point? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just walk away right now. I can't do this." My voice is still strained, still accusing, and the last couple words are more sobbed than spoken.

_**He can't remember  
The times that he thought  
Does my daddy love me?  
Probably not  
That didn't stop him  
From wishing that he did  
Didn't keep him from wanting  
Or worshipping him **_

He guesses he saw him  
About once a year  
He could still feel the way he felt  
Standing in tears  
Stretching his arms out  
As far as they'd go  
Whispering Daddy  
I want you to know

I love you this much  
And i'm waiting on you  
To make up your mind  
Do you love me too?  
How ever long it takes  
I'm never giving up 

_**No matter what  
I love you this much **_

He grew to hate him 

_**for what he had done  
'cause what kind of father  
Could do that to his son?  
He said 'Damn you Daddy'  
The day that he died  
The man didn't blink  
But the little boy cried **_

I love you this much  
And i'm waiting on you  
To make up your mind  
Do you love me too?  
How ever long it takes  
I'm never giving up 

_**No matter what  
I love you this much **_

Half way through the service  
While the choir sang a hymn  
He looked up a the preacher  
And he sat and stared at him

He said  
'Forgive me Father'  
When he realized  
That he hadn't been unloved  
Or alone all his life  
His arms were stretched out  
As far as they go  
Nailed to the cross  
For the whole world to know

I love you this much  
And I'm waiting on you  
To make up your mind  
Do you love me too?  
How ever long it takes  
I'm never giving up 

_**No matter what  
I love you this much  
**_

"Huh? Dad loved me."

I sort of…feel a sigh. Then the radio blares, twice as loud as it had been.

_**He said  
'Forgive me Father'  
When he realized  
That he hadn't been unloved  
Or alone all his life  
His arms were stretched out  
As far as they go  
Nailed to the cross  
For the whole world to know **_

I love you this much  
And I'm waiting on you  
To make up your mind  
Do you love me too?  
How ever long it takes  
I'm never giving up 

_**No matter what  
I love you this much**_

Something clicks in my head, and I pull up a memory file from two years ago, one that I had all but forgotten about. I'd gone with a casual friend of mine—I think her name was Macy—to church one Sunday. Easter Sunday, where they'd read a story that I hadn't bothered accessing since. I didn't get what it meant.

"Wait, that was You? B-but, _how?_ Is that even possible?"

_What is impossible for man is possible for God. _Macy had said that once.

_**I love you this much**_

Enough to die…

_**And I'm waiting on you  
**_

…for someone like me…

_**To make up your mind  
**_

"Why?"

_**Do you love me too?  
**_

Dad's laughing voice echoes in my head. _"Do you always have to have a reason for everything?" _I'd always been asking questions the first year or so of my real life. _"Some things do not have comprehendible reasons. It does not mean they are not true."_

_**However long it takes**_

"This is one of those things, isn't it?"

_**I'm never giving up**_

I replay the memory in my head, and run across a song that I didn't remember hearing. _"I'm forgiven/Because you were forsaken/I'm accepted/You were condemned/I'm alive and well/And your Spirit is within me/Because You died and rose again."_

_**No matter what  
**_

Maybe I can't do this alone. But I don't have to. Not if I have both of my fathers in me. I access the prayer at the end of the sermon that day and bow my head. "Dear Jesus…"

_**I love you this much

* * *

**_

You can love me for it, hate me for it, or ignore it entirely. I don't care. This is my story. If it bothers you overly much, just pretend she made a connection with Primus or something when the Spirit talks to her. Or don't read. Pick one.

Yes, I am Christian. God is the only way I'm getting through the mess I'm in right now, and I know He's the only way I'd survive something like Sitka went through.

Feel free to tell me what you think. Just leave it anonymously if you must flame.

Songs used:

My Father in Me: Paul Overstreet

Do It Anyway: Martina McBride

I Love You This Much: Jimmy Wayne


	10. Maybe We'll Be Okay

Just a heads up, I went back and added the names of the songs and the artists who sang them in the last chapter. I meant to do that, but I was too tired to think straight when I actually got the thing posted. If the last chap confused you (as some of you said it did), let me know what confused you so I can clarify.

Red Alert in this story is more like the one(s) from Armada and Cybertron than G1.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Sitka and Shadowhaunter are mine, as well as Aurora and the Nightmare and any other OCs that show up.

* * *

I'm finding that having a facemask is very useful. For one thing, it's very useful for hiding emotions I don't want other people to see. Like right now, for instance. It's taking every micron of patience I have not to dangle this Simmons character by his toes from the top of the Pentagon. I contacted Secretary Keller a few days ago and briefed him on the new situation (leaving out the fact that I'm half human, of course). Keller arranged for us to come to a meeting between the heads of the FBI, the Armed Forces and the Department of Homeland Security, along with Keller and the Deputy Secretary of Defense about a week from then. Apparently, the Pentagon has accessways and a room big enough to accommodate us. The President will be joining us by videophone. 

I didn't ask why Keller was going to introduce us to these people. I pretty much know. In times like this, it's a great deal of comfort to know that someone bigger and more powerful than you is fighting the same enemy you are. For the sake of keeping up morale, Keller has asked us not to say anything about the recent ordeal. They don't need to know about the amount of damage the Nightmare has caused us as well. The humans need heroes they can look up to, and who better than those who are already larger than life? I don't like it, but I discussed it with the others—namely Prowl and Jazz, with some input from Red Alert—and they agree with Keller, though some reluctantly. It's too raw of a wound to expose to the "public" eye right now, anyway.

To be quite honest, the prospect of this meeting and the preparation for it has been a welcome distraction for all of us, including Sam and Mikaela, who—obviously—took the news of their friends' deaths no better than we did. They're in school now, or they would have been with us.

Apparently Simmons didn't get the memo. He's currently refusing to let us through the inner "gate" (we transformed inside the outer "gate" to this place—my new form is an HHR, by the way, as it was the only thing I fit that wasn't a minivan), and we need to be there in fifteen minutes. We've been arguing for five, and I'm about ready to blow a fuse. Fortunately, Keller pulls a _deus ex machina_ and yells down from a catwalk I hadn't noticed for Simmons to let us in, then leads us deeper into this sector of the complex.

As we walk in, Jazz tells me in Cybertronian about the episode with Bumblebee during the war with the Decepticons. I laugh out loud at the idea of the cocky Agent Simmons from that time being reduced to a security guard, startling a shapely blond woman smartly dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit and a purple-haired teen wearing what can only be described as a black vinyl punk-rocker jumpsuit as they exit a room with great stacks of paper files in their hands. Said files fly all over the place, making a gigantic mess for the poor women to clean up. Thankfully, someone had the forethought to put most of them in closeable folders.

That seems to be the last thing on their minds, however, as they stares up at us, especially me. (I _am _a good four, maybe five feet taller than most of my living compatriots, taller still compared to Jazz and Shadowhaunter, whose alt mode is a Harley, if that tells you anything.) An "uh" squeaks out as the blond tries to decide what to say. The purple-haired seeming teenager just beams at us, like this is the coolest thing that has ever happened to her. As I kneel to get more to their level, Keller and his deputy, Marcus Lyman, walk into the hall, Keller having taken a transit tunnel to the meeting room.

Marcus, having met myself, Prowl, and Jazz a few days ago after being hired in the place of the old deputy secretary (she got eaten by the Grimms' Nightmare while on vacation), is more used to our presence. (No, he doesn't know the whole story, either.) He addresses the women with an amused, understanding smile on his face. I can tell he's remembering how he acted when he was introduced to us for the first time. It wasn't so far from the blond lady's reaction. "Ah, there you are, Miss Hoffman, Miss Keller. I see you've met the Autobots. Prime, this is the Assistant Secretary of Public Affairs for the Department of Homeland Security, Miss Janine Hoffman, and one of the former Sector Seven's youngest and foremost agents, Miss Marsha Antony, who is currently working with Public Affairs on this project. Miss Hoffman, Miss Antony, this is Sitka Prime, Commander of the Autobots, and her crew."

Janine squeaks out a tiny "Hi" as she continues to stare at us. I chuckle and grin behind my facemask, letting my smile reach my optics.

"Hello, Miss Hoffman." I keep my voice quiet, trying not to startle her even more. "It's a pleasure to meet you." I turn my head slightly to look directly at the excited Marsha. "You as well, Miss Antony."

My efforts are rewarded with a genuine, if shaky, smile from Janine, and a barrage of questions from a now-hyper Marsha. "Omigosh, what are you guys? How did you get here? You look like you can turn into cars or something. Can you? Do you have any special powers? What are the rest of your names?"

The nearly-forgotten Keller clears his throat, quieting Marsha, and offers Janine the stack of folders he picked up. "I think it would be better to leave further introductions for the formal meeting, as we only have about seven minutes left to get there." Marsha gives him an irritated look as she takes her stack of files from Marcus.

Marcus looks at his watch and grimaces. "More like three, if we actually want to be in there before they start."

I grin again and lower my hand to floor level in front of Marsha. "Need a lift?" Marsha beams at me and hops on before Keller can so much as complete his confused look.

Jazz kneels in front of Janine. "May I?" She stares at him, like she's noticing him for the first time, then gives a quick, jerky nod, the smile returning to her face. I notice it's a great deal less shaky this time.

Keller and Marcus exchange nervous looks. Prowl rolls his optics and he and Shadowhaunter pick up our remaining two human friends. Marcus looks greatly relieved to find himself on Shadowhaunter's shoulder.

Just when Keller has regained his composure at being picked up and set on a shoulder nearly a story and a half in the air, I make my move. "Hold on tight!" I take off down the hall, Marsha laughing in my left audio as she's jolted around and clinging tightly to my shoulder armor, the others following in what has to be quite the sight for any poor security guard who just happens to be watching through the cameras.

We all skid to a stop just outside the one door that looks big enough to let us in, breathless and laughing at the expressions on our human friends' faces. They all look quite disheveled. I'd momentarily forgotten that they needed to look their best for this.

Just as I'm half-heartedly wondering what to do about said situation, Janine pulls out four combs and passes one to each of her compatriots. We all watch amusedly as the humans fix their hair and put various suit parts back into place. After they've finished preening, Keller and the other humans go inside while we wait by the closed cargo(?) door. (We'd already decided it would be best if Keller prepared those who didn't know of our existence before we just wandered right in.)

I grin at Keller's attempts to explain us without giving it all away. It should be a good afternoon.

* * *

I needed to write this. I need people to know that even in your darkest hour, life can be okay. And I'm in a pretty flippin' dark hour, so I know what I'm talking about. Do what you can, and leave the rest to God. There's not point in making yourself crazier over stuff you can't do anything about than you are already going to be. And keep lots of friends around. Those help too. :) 


	11. New Friends

I'm sorryI'm sorryI'msorry! I hate writer's block. Just for future reference, you might not hear much from me over the summers for a while. I promise to try to write more often over the rest of the year, though.

This is really just to fill in some needed info and introduce a few new characters, so if it's not quite as good as the other chapters, I apologize.

I don't own Transformers. Sitka, Janine, Marsha, Shadowhaunter, and the Grimms' Nightmare -shudders- are mine. Please ask before you use them.

* * *

Aside from the initial introductions and the part where we discussed what to do with the Grimms' Nightmare situation and whether to expose ourselves to humanity—a discussion that is tabled, as no one really has any idea—the meeting is immensely boring. You'd think that a meeting of main military leaders—especially one involving the president—would have something at least mildly interesting being discussed, but nope. It's all a bunch of petty political mumbo jumbo that I should probably be taking notes on, but I'm having a hard enough time keeping my optics open, never mind actually paying attention.

Marsha—who has somehow managed to reinstall herself on my left shoulder without getting too many strange looks (we're all sitting on the floor in an attempt to reduce the freakout factor)—stifles a giggle as I subtly try to shake myself awake again.

"Bored?" she whispers.

"Extremely."

"It's usually this way. I have to play file/food runner for these things a lot, even though my official job title is 'Internet Monitor' (i.e. government employed white hat hacker). They talked about a bunch of this stuff for the last three, four meetings. There's so much red tape and difference of opinion that it's hard to get anything done."

The meeting goes on for another seven hours—thankfully with a lunch break. Out of politeness, we stick around, keeping an audio trained on the discussion for when our opinion is asked. Some of us use the free time to hash out base plans (over comm. link, of course); others use the time to mess around on the Internet, learning how to use things at human speed so as to allay suspicion. Marsha and Janine (who has most definitely warmed to Jazz, as she is sitting on his knee) aren't needed nearly as much as they usually are, as the people actually participating in the meeting have most of the relevant material memorized now, so we give them transmitters that look like Bluetooth headsets and do our conversing in English so they can participate through whispers.

(A/N: To activate a private comm. through the transmitters, a human would say the name of the Transformer they wanted to talk to.)

Jazz eventually drops out of the base design conversation altogether. I don't mind. It amuses me a bit, actually, because he's got the same look Dad did when he looked at Mom.

A sudden comment of "That bot is _so_ gone" makes me look at Marsha. I follow her gaze, and see that she was looking at Jazz and Janine as well.

I chuckle. "Indeed. You did remember to turn on a private comm., yes?"

"Duh." Marsha pauses. "Is that okay?"

"Is what okay?"

"An Autobot and a human, you know, falling in love."

I smile. "Yes. It's happened before, actually, and turned out quite well."

"Orly? Who fell in love with who?"

"…That's kind of…classified…right now."

"Oh. Why?"

"That's part of why it's classified."

"Ah. Phooey." Marsha grins again. "Oh, well. At least I know that Janine has a chance at happiness now."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Her old bf was a total loser, but she never realized that it was him making her miserable. She thought it was her not being a perfect girlfriend. He pretty much emotionally abused her, wrung all that he could out of her, and when he got all that he wanted, he took off with the nearest hoochie he could find."

"What a fickle, disgusting sort of person."

"Amen. Poor Janine never really got over it."

I send up a silent prayer for Janine and her new relationship with Jazz.

Fortunately, the meeting does eventually end, and we all head back for the base (after giving Marsha and Janine verbal directions, of course).

The moment we step in the door, the alarm for incoming Transformer signals starts shrieking at defcon 5. A cluster of six blips appears on the monitor reserved for such alerts, headed almost straight in our direction.

Red Alert heads for said monitor, then reports, "Definitely Autobot signals. They'll be touching down in about an hour."

"Good thing we decided to finish the quarters after the control room. Shadow, Sunny, Sides, you guys prepare rooms for them, set the alarms, and come meet us at the touchdown area. The rest of you, with me."

All of us are gathered about five miles from the base when we see the first streaks of light in the now-dark sky announcing the arrival of our allies. Six blinding crashes later, they emerge from their cometary forms and scan vehicles in the nearby rest stop. Fully transformed, they face us. They're femmes, all of them, and I feel a lightening in my chest.

The optics of the slender femme who chose a light pink sports car register deep shock when she sees me. "Who—" her voice catches, "who are you?"

I look right into her optics—slightly upwards, as she is a couple of feet taller than me—and say, "I'm Sitka Prime." I explain what happened with Dad and the others, again leaving out the fact that I'm actually Dad's daughter. They have a right to know the former, but I have no idea how they'd react to the latter. I'm not taking my chances yet.

As I explain, the pink femme turns greyer and greyer, finally collapsing when I tell with all-too-familiar blue tears in my optics how he and the others died. I move forward.

"Do you—what…" I trail off, not knowing quite what to say.

The pink femme's face contorts into an agonized grimace, and she sink onto her knees, sobbing uncontrollably for a long time. I'm not sure what to do, so I default to my failsafe, and kneel down to hug her, rocking her gently and crying with her. Many hands are put on us, and there is not a dry optic in the combined group.

"Thank you, Prime."

"Please call me Sitka. I'm not quite used to the idea of being Prime yet."

"I shall. I am Elita One."

Well, that explains that.

* * *

O.o Dun dun DUN! Now what? Do they tell them or leave them in the dark? I think Elita kinda suspects already…

And yeah, I know Sitka sounds a little more like Optimus now. That was the general idea.

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